


Forever Mine

by EmilyScarlett



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternative Universe - Soulbonding, Dark, Dubious Consent, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Knives, M/M, Ownership, Pursuit, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyScarlett/pseuds/EmilyScarlett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac had thought it would be easy. His mate was such a tiny little thing. Certainly, he’d try to put up a fight, because that’s how it went. Courfeyrac had to prove himself capable of owning this man, but he was certain that this wispy little thing would be easy to conquer.</p>
<p>That was, he was sure right up until he felt the knife in his bicep.</p>
<p>For a kink meme prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt:  
> Courfeyrac is hunting Jehan. Jehan is doing whatever he can to escape. (This may get triggery, so be forewarned).
> 
> Courfeyrac tries to use a tranquilizer gun, Jehan throws knives back. Courfeyrac sets snares, Jehan engineers cave-ins. Courfeyrac sends men to help corner Jehan, Jehan sends them back dead.
> 
> Except in the end, Jehan can't run any more and Courfeyrac finds him and holds him down with a knife to his throat and fucks him even while he's struggling and Jehan tries to bite and get away right up until they're finished, at which point he goes home with Courfeyrac and is his for good.
> 
> I'd like it if it was (in world) a normal thing to do, Courfeyrac proving that he's strong and capable and a worthy mate, and Jehan showing that he's not just something that can be won, he's worth fighting for, and the thrill of it is good for both of them (and possibly expected and prearranged). So, A/B/O or some weird sort of other magic claim or even just a bizarre dystopia could work. 
> 
> However, the world's not what I actually care about, just Courfeyrac hunting Jehan down and fucking him, like it or not, to claim and own him, and Jehan being a terror that nearly kills him a few times.

Courfeyrac had thought it would be easy. His mate was such a tiny little thing. Certainly, he’d try to put up a fight, because that’s how it went. Courfeyrac had to prove himself capable of owning this man, but he was certain that this wispy little thing would be easy to conquer.

 

That was, he was sure right up until he felt the knife in his bicep.

 

He glanced down at it, and when he’d looked back up his mate was gone. He ran after him but he only managed to chase him for a minute or so before falling desperately behind and losing him.

 

He grinned. This was going to be _fun._ He should have known that his mate wouldn’t be won easily, he wouldn’t want him to be. That would be boring and he would detest that. He could already tell that his mate was the farthest thing from boring. Just the way that he _dressed_. So bright and eccentric. It looked as though he’d tried to purposefully find the two items of clothing that could never possibly go together and forced them to anyway. It was entirely out of character for most submissives, who usually did anything and everything to avoid drawing attention to themselves. But with his mate, everything from the flowers in his braid to the bright aqua colour of his shoes drew attention.

 

Not so much as his eyes did though. They looked so soulful, almost old and innocent at the same time. That was, until they’d looked at him. Until they’d locked eyes and felt their connection lock into place, felt their souls bond together. Then they’d turned almost challenging as he’d approached. The poor thing (or so he’d thought at the time) was already backed into a corner. They were in an alley for fuck sake! He really shouldn’t have stood a chance. But he hadn’t looked down or shrunk away from him. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t seen the knife; he hadn’t be able to look away from those eyes.

 

It didn’t matter, he’d find him again soon enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It had taken three days for him to find him. He had to admit that this boy was good. He’d taken money out of an ATM in the immediate area, only a few minutes after losing Courfeyrac so there was no indication of where he had headed to. But he had made one mistake. He stuck to pattern. He always got on buses. He got on one until it ended, and then he’d get on another. It was easy, once he’d been spotted on CCTV once, to track his routes and figure out where he’d go.

 

Courfeyrac had gone to the Agency, of course, to be able to do all of this. That was how it went. For a relatively small fee, Dominants could go to the Agency in order to track down their submissives. They were, of course, expected to physically catch them on their own. That was the whole point, proving their right and ability to own them. And, now Courfeyrac would prove himself worthy of his prize.

 

He wasn’t so brazen this time. His approach was not obvious. He’d found his quarry in an abandoned car park behind an out of the way café; it was almost too perfect. He got just close enough to have a clean line of sight for his tranquiliser gun. He wasn’t taking any chances this time; he didn’t really fancy being stabbed again. His aim was perfect, there was no way he could miss, and yet he still found himself gaping as his target ducked around the corner the very second he fired, and no doubt took off running.

 

He gave chase quickly, he wouldn’t lose him again. However, just as he rounded the corner he felt a searing pain as a throwing knife was embedded in his shoulder. He swore.

“If you take another step the next one goes in your eye,” promised a deceptively sweet voice from the other end of the alley. The emotion behind it was all steel though; this boy meant business. He was stood in front of an old, beaten up car, and seemed to be in the process of hot wiring it. Courfeyrac was impressed that he’d already broken into it in the time that it had taken him to run around the corner.

“That’s fair enough,” said Courfeyrac, smiling easily. The boy had already turned back to what he was doing but Courfeyrac didn’t doubt that if he moved then he’d find a knife in his eye before he’d even taken two steps.

“You know I’m going to catch up with you eventually,” he continued.

“You sound so certain of that,” the boy remarked, almost idly. “But you were certain when you first saw me. I could see it in your face, and look how well that worked out for you. So certain that you could just push me against a wall in some alley and fuck me, and then I’d be yours.”

“You’re already mine. I just haven’t claimed you yet.”

“You still think you’ll have me. You’re wrong.”

“Call me an optimist, then.”

“I’d rather call you an arrogant prick who thinks that I’ll be so easily owned.”

Courfeyrac laughed.

“I misjudged you, I admit. I’m glad. You turned out to be even more interesting than you already seemed.”

The boy looked startled.

“Most Doms would try to attack me for that. They don’t like to be disrespected.”

“I haven’t earned your respect. That’s what this is all about, earning that.”

“You won’t. I don’t want to be owned by anyone. I’ve trained to avoid it.”

“I can tell,” Courfeyrac smiled, gesturing at his bleeding shoulder. “But I’ll have you eventually. All I have to do it catch you first.”

“I know how it works,” he snapped, climbing into the car. “I’m saying you’re not going to catch me.”

“And I’m saying I will.”

 

The boy shook his head and went to shut the door of the car.

“Wait,” Courfeyrac cried, raising his hands but not moving any closer. The boy paused despite himself.

“I’m not giving myself to you,” he said vehemently. “I don’t care if you promise to be kinder if I give up.”

“I’m not- I just want to know your name.”

The boy hesitated for a moment and then slammed the door shut. Courfeyrac was disappointed for a moment, until the window rolled down.

“Jehan,” he shouted out of it, as he sped out of the car park and down the road, heading north.

 

Jehan. It suited him. It was just as unusual and intriguing as he was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The third attempt was a complete and unmitigated disaster. It was his own fault really, for sending someone else.

 

The only way that it was acceptable for a Dom to not take his own submissive was to spend extortionate amounts of money on having them brought to them. It proved wealth and societal power, rather than physical prowess. Usually, Courfeyrac would distain such a thing. The hunt was where all the fun was to be had, why give that up? But on this occasion he saw the wisdom in it. If he went himself then he’d end up talking to Jehan again, and then he’d definitely get away.

He had to admit though, looking at the mangled bodies before him, that he’d have stood a much better chance than these men had. One of them was missing a head, for fuck sake! A head that that hadn’t even been able to recover. Who knew where it was?

 

Well, if you want something done right…

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The hotel room hadn’t really been what Courfeyrac expected. He should have known not to be surprised by now. It was bare, utilitarian, no personal affects around barring a battered old book. He supposed it wasn’t by choice, it was difficult to move stuff on the run. He lasted all of three minutes before looking in the book. What he found inside was verses of the most heart rending poetry he’d ever read. The last one though, that was what caught his attention.

 

What agony is caused,

When heart rebels from mind.

How to know which to follow?

 

Best, perhaps, to think not?

Or ignore the heart,

Avoid the sorrow?

 

I know not which,

And yet it’s sure.

I’ll still run on the morrow.

 

Courfeyrac was captivated, and not a little cheered, by this conflict. He’d though Jehan completely unwilling and yet this book seemed to indicate some longing. He wanted to, but could not bring himself to give in. Perhaps the little poet just needed to be won? So that he would not be giving up. This only increased Courfeyrac’s resolve. He would do this, for both of them.

With his preoccupation, it was understandable that he did not hear Jehan enter the room. In fact, the first he knew of it was the sound of the safety being clicked off a gun.

“Put that down,” ordered an icy cold voice.  Courfeyrac carefully put the book down on the table.

“Good, now put your hands up behind your head.”

Courfeyrac complied, slowly and carefully.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s rude to go through people’s private possessions?”

“I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I couldn’t ignore it when it was just lying there. But really, you’re very good. I don’t even like poetry and I think you’re good.”

“I don’t really care whether you like it or not, that’s mine and you shouldn’t have read it. No one’s supposed to see those ones. They’re personal.”

“Those ones? There’s more?” Courfeyrac was excited by the thought.

“Yes.”

“Can I see them?”

“I only show them to people I like; a list you’re certainly not on. Besides, I don’t have them with me. I had to leave them behind because of you.” The bitterness in his voice made Courfeyrac feel inexplicably guilty.

“You’re the one who chose to run. You could have kept them if you’d just given in. You could have them back, if you stop fighting. I wouldn’t keep them from you.”

“How generous of you,” Jehan said, scathingly. “I’ll still be allowed possessions if I become your pet.”

“Better that lots of Doms would offer.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should just give up now. We have a bed here. I’ll be gentle. If I have to find you again, I won’t be.” Jehan shook his head.

“Get in the closet.”

“Oh no, dear. I came out of it years ago; I don’t want to go back.”

“You can’t possibly be joking when I have a gun to your head.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to pass up and opportunity like that. It’s cruel and unreasonable!”

Jehan shook his head mutely.

“Go,” he said, gesturing with the gun.

Courfeyrac gave a long suffering sigh and climbed into the closet. He waved as Jehan shut the door.

“See you soon.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Jehan, wedging a chair in front of the door handle and leaving.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It seemed fitting for Jehan to be found in a cemetery. He seemed to fit with the surroundings somehow, bright coloured clothing notwithstanding. Courfeyrac approached slowly. Jehan was sitting by a grave, writing in his book. His mate was obviously worn down. They’d been playing this game for almost a month down and it was obviously taking its toll on the boy. Tough. Courfeyrac was tired of this. He wanted Jehan and he would take him tonight.

 

He’d been locked in that closet for half a day before he’d been let out by the receptionist. He had time to think about things. He wouldn’t be nice this time. He was done waiting.

 

There was a knife by Jehan, on the ground, too far away for him to reach quickly. Not when Courfeyrac had a gun. Jehan really must have been exhausted. He took the gun out and aimed. He clicked the safety off and watched Jehan’s head whip up to look at him.

“Stand up. Slowly.”

Jehan did, seeming to recognise the change in Courfeyrac’s temperament this time.

“Hand’s out either side. Spread your legs.”

 

Courfeyrac proceeded to remove every single weapon from Jehan’s person, starting with the gun from his waistband. He ended up with a truly impressive amount of knives on the ground next to them. When he’d finished he stood back and saw Jehan giving him an appraising look.

“Lie down. I have to admit that a cemetery isn’t where I wanted to do this, but I don’t trust you enough to take you somewhere else.”

“No,” said Jehan thoughtfully.

“No?”

“No. I don’t think you’ll shoot me.”

 

And then he took off running.

 

“Fuck,” screamed Courfeyrac, grabbing a discarded knife. He took off running after Jehan. The problem was that Jehan was faster than him. He’d never catch up. He’d have to do something to stop him from being able to run. He followed after him until he had a clean shot. It took rather a long time, since they were running past gravestones and mausoleums, but finally there was nothing in the way. He took aim at Jehan calf and fired, watching as his mate fell to the ground, right next to a mausoleum. He sprinted to him, knowing that he was down now but still having to make sure that there were no more tricks that this infuriating, surprising man could pull.

 

He reached him and turned him over on to his front, putting a knife to his throat and straddling his hips. Jehan tried clawing at his face.

“That’s enough,” Courfeyrac growled. “It’s over.”

“Fuck you,” Jehan snarled, not ceasing his struggles.

“Fine,” Courfeyrac sighed, “Have it your way then.”

 

He kept the knife pushed against Jehan’s throat as he pulled his mate’s trousers down. He took his cock in hand and quickly jerked it to full hardness. Jehan cried in wordless rage at the violation. Jehan’s hands continued to hit him as he pushed first one, then two, then three spit covered fingers into his opening, stretching him out as much as he could. He would have prefered to be gentler, to take his time, but that could come later.

 

He pinned Jehan’s hands above his head with one hand, the other still pressing the knife to his throat. With his mate suitably pinned, he pushed into him. Jehan screamed at the intrusion, and since his hands were not free, bit into his shoulder. Right where he already had a stab wound. He pulled out and then slammed back into the boy in front of him in punishment. He then took up a fast but not unduly rough pace. He let go of Jehan’s hands to start to stroke his cock at the same speed. The poet took advantage of this by hitting at his shoulders and chest, trying to shift him but making little to no difference at all. It wasn’t long before his mate tensed up, coming over his hand and then going limp beneath him. He followed after a few thrusts, collapsing on top of him.

 

They took a few moments to catch their breath before Courfeyrac stood up.

“Here, put your arms around my neck. I’ll carry you to my car.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I don’t doubt it, but you’re mine now and I’m going to take care of you.”

Jehan acquiesced and Courfeyrac carried him bridal style -there was a joke to be made there somewhere- to his car, settling him in the passenger seat.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Do I need to lock you in?”

“No,” said Jehan quietly. “I won’t run anymore.”

He nodded and went to leave.

“Wait,” Jehan whispered.

Courfeyrac paused.

“What’s your name?”

“Courfeyrac,” he replied, grinning and shutting the door.

 

Courfeyrac made his way to where they’d started, collecting Jehan’s weapons and his poetry book. The boy looked startled when he returned and promptly presented them to him.

“You’re letting me have these?”

“They’re yours.”

“I belong to you now, so they’re yours.”

“Then I’m saying you can have them. Just don’t attack me with them.”

 

They remained silent for a while.

“Where are we going,” Jehan asked.

“To a hospital. Did you forget I shot you in the leg?”

“No, I just- sorry.”

“What is it? You don’t have to watch your words around me, you can say whatever you want.”

“Most Dom’s would leave their submissives to suffer whatever injuries they got while running, as a punishment. Especially since I’ve hurt you.”

“Not me. Look, I know you’re not just going to believe me but I want you to be happy. I really do. When we’ve been to the hospital I want you to write me a list of everything that you need to be happy. All right? I imagine some of those things will be at your house, so we’ll go there and get what you need. Then, we’ll go to my house, and I’ll take care of you. Okay?”

“I- May I ask you for a favour?”

“You can ask.”

“My friends. Will you let me see them, just occasionally? I- we’re really close.”

“Yes, of course you can see them. You can have them over, if you want, whenever you want. Or go out. I don’t intend to keep you prisoner.”

“Thank you,” Jehan said, and it upset Courfeyrac how genuinely grateful he seemed.

“No wonder you fought so hard, if that’s what you thought your life would be like.”

“I have to admit, I misjudged you.”

 

In fact, Courfeyrac thought, this was turning out rather better than he’d hoped. He was quite confident that they’d both be reasonably happy with each other, in the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought, and also please let me know if you saw any typos.


End file.
